


you were a bright light (you were a fistfight)

by suchbeautifuldoubt



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingering, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchbeautifuldoubt/pseuds/suchbeautifuldoubt
Summary: Alder has them crammed into a tiny apartment across from a supposed Camarilla hideout, running reconnaissance, even though right now they should be sitting pretty in War College, attending courses and doing drills. On top of all of that, Scylla Ramshorn is sitting on the windowsill, keeping an eye on said hideout like she’s not the stupidly beautiful embodiment of a metaphorical elephant in the room.//or: nothing like a lil hatesex to resolve your complicated emotions about the love of your life whom you left in a dungeon to die.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 36
Kudos: 573





	you were a bright light (you were a fistfight)

**Author's Note:**

> this was birthed from an anon ask about raylla banging in order to charge up. it morphed and turned into something else, but the basis is still there. shout out to tumblr user maplecroft for being the best beta that i could ask for and spending so much of her precious time decoding the scramble of my initial thoughts. you're my rock and i'm never going to be able to pay you back for this.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy it!! 💕

The situation is fucked.

Alder has them crammed into a tiny apartment across from a supposed Camarilla hideout, running reconnaissance, even though right now they _should_ be sitting pretty in War College, attending courses and doing drills. On top of all of that, Scylla Ramshorn is sitting on the windowsill, keeping an eye on said hideout like she’s not the stupidly beautiful embodiment of a metaphorical elephant in the room.

Raelle leans back against the dining room table of their open-plan flat, gripping the hardwood edge to support her tired muscles, trying to look as casual as possible amongst the semi-organized chaos of their stakeout hideaway.

Tally walks past her with an expression comprised of a tight-lipped smile and wide eyes, hands motioning for her to attempt to go talk to Scylla. But Raelle’s chest is a blend of emotions that she doesn’t necessarily trust enough to not spill all over the place if she were to go try and talk to her… ex-girlfriend? The phrase tastes wrong even left unsaid on her tongue.

Instead, Raelle chooses to ignore Tally’s puppy dog expression, and busies herself with shuffling around things on the tabletop: Abigail’s case of salva to the left, Tally’s cup of water up and away from the edge of the table, Scylla’s…

Scylla’s protection charm—which Raelle’d brought as a ‘just-in-case’ item ( _just in case of what?,_ a voice in her presses)—to the right, behind one of their jackets, so Raelle doesn’t have to look at it.

She’s about to get up and give some flimsy excuse about going for a walk when Abigail comes out of a side room with a firm clearing of her throat. Scylla doesn’t turn around, though Tally and Raelle do.

“There’s only one bedroom and one bathroom,” Abigail announces.

Of course _that’s_ what gets Scylla to turn around, an eyebrow quirked in that way that always made Raelle’s heart rate quicken. It doesn’t fail to do it this time either, and Raelle has to pull her eyes away from Scylla to look down at the vinyl wood flooring and rub away at an invisible spot with her foot.

“The great Generals Alder and Bellweather couldn’t even spring for a bigger place?” Scylla smirks. “I mean, I get it’s a run-down dump of a building, but even the Spree—”

Abigail cuts her off with two firm steps forward and a snarl that prickles the back of Raelle’s neck, making her want to instinctually step between the two of them to protect Scylla.

“Shut up, _traitor_ . We’re only here because _your_ Spree intel landed us in this situation. If shit goes sideways, it’s _your_ life on the line. I’m not afraid to throw you in as bait if—”

“Abigail!” Tally steps between them in Raelle’s place, hands up and palms open, trying to defuse the quickly escalating tension. “I’m sure that Scylla doesn’t want to be here any more than we do. Do you think any of us signed up to be a part of a black-ops team for Alder?”

Raelle scoffs unintentionally, drawing looks from everyone in the room. She doesn’t miss how Scylla’s hardened glare softens the moment it lands on her.

“Dibs on the bedroom.” Raelle shrugs, trying to embody every bit of blasé Cession girl she can muster, despite the glob of feelings tumbling around in her stomach.

She swears she sees Scylla’s lips quirk up just a little bit into a smile.

“What? No—” Tally starts, but is swiftly cut off by Abigail.

“Raelle and I will take the next shift, you and… _Scylla_ ” —the disdain is palpable —“can take this one.”

Tally opens her mouth and looks like she’s about to complain, but one glance at Raelle, who’s staring adamantly down at her own hands to avoid all eye contact with everybody in this room, makes her stop. She nods firmly instead, “Deal. But you’re ordering dinner.”

“Deal.”

Scylla watches them quietly from her spot on the windowsill for a moment longer before turning back to gaze outside once more.

Raelle lets out a small grunt of pain. “I’m still sore and tired from training. I’m going to take a nap.”

She pushes past her friends before they can protest and makes her way to the bedroom, where she firmly faceplants onto the bed, slipping into sleep with ease.

* * *

She wakes up to a dip in the bed, the pressure of someone coming to sit next to her. Her limbs are heavy, but she manages to roll herself onto her back and blink the sleep from her eyes, the form clearing of its haze to shape itself into a familiar and heartbreaking sight.

Scylla’s staring down at her with a soft smile and even softer eyes, watching her with an expression Raelle can’t quite read.

“Hey.”

Raelle should get up and walk out of the room. She should just roll off the bed right this instant and leave.

But she can’t. Her body feels like lead, and the most she can do is weakly raise her arm and -against every bit of reason —cups Scylla’s face gently, running her thumb along Scylla’s cheek.

Scylla sighs, leaning into the touch, smiling against Raelle’s palm. Raelle feels her icy walls melting as quickly as if they were never even solid to begin with.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly with sleep, but it makes Scylla smile, which makes _Raelle_ smile. And now they’re both smiling at each other like idiots, despite all the heartache between them.

“I missed you,” Scylla whispers against Raelle’s palm, pressing a kiss to it.

Raelle’s mouth goes dry. She clears her throat, nodding. “I … I missed you too.”

The smile she receives in return for that measly little statement could light up an entire stadium. Raelle’s heart lurches forward in want and affection.

Scylla scoots a smidge closer, taking Raelle’s hands between her own, running her fingers along Raelle’s knuckles before leaning down to press their foreheads together.

“Raelle, get up.”

Raelle’s brain is hazy. “Huh?”

The bed moves, shakes, even though the two of them are completely still and— _fuck_. Of course.

“Raelle, wake up.”

_Of course none of this was real._

Scylla’s touch fades, and Raelle wakes, facedown in bed, no warmth encasing her hands, no forehead resting against hers.

“Mmph.” Raelle shoves her face deeper into the pillow, sticking an arm out and to the side to try and bap whatever’s making the noise, but all she gets is a handful of someone’s face.

“Rayeh ge’ yor han oph muh fash,” someone says, the vibration of it tickling Raelle’s palm. Raelle pulls her hand away and pushes herself up, blinking the sleep from her eyes to face Tally.

“Hi. Uh. Sorry.” It takes her a moment to remember where she is.

Tally smiles, all patience and kindness. “You’re fine. Pizza’s here. Grab a slice then switch with me and Scy—me?”

Sleep is still clouding her brain, enough so that Tally’s slip-up doesn’t really hit Raelle the way that Tally seems to think it will. “Yeah, okay.”

It takes her a total of five minutes to _slowly_ get up and make her way into the living room after Tally leaves. She can’t shake the feeling of tingles on her forehead where dream-Scylla had rested her forehead, nor the feeling of pins and needles on the hand dream-Scylla had clasped.

It’s quiet. The only noteworthy thing is the smell of cheap pepperoni pizza that’s been piled in three boxes onto the tabletop. Other than that, Abigail’s taken up shop at the table with a notebook and scry to keep track of those going in and out the Camarilla hideout. Tally's contentedly munching away on a slice of pizza, pacing a small circle near Scylla, who’s still staring out the window, fidgeting with her hands; a nervous tic.

When Tally catches Raelle’s eye, she only pulls the same exact face from earlier, and gestures vaguely towards Scylla with her slice of pizza before twirling away to go hover near Abigail, who chuckles and gives Tally a playful shove.

“Stop, you’re going to get grease on my shirt.”

“Well maybe if—"

Raelle tunes them out while she loads up a paper plate with a slice of grease-soaked pizza, and cautiously makes her way to a window _near_ Scylla’s chosen spot, but not quite close enough that it looks like she’s trying to be kind.

The tension is evident; it doesn’t help that Tally and Abigail fall silent when they notice that Raelle has settled so close to Scylla—if you can even call seven feet of space close. But it _is_ the closest they’ve been since she told Scylla she no longer loved her and sent her off to die.

After a long minute, Tally and Abigail’s conversation picks up again, but Scylla doesn’t really look at any of them, only staring out the window and playing with her hands, occasionally marking down the details of the people entering and exiting the building across the street.

Raelle’s halfway finished with her pizza when Abigail clears her throat again. “Scylla, if you and Tally would like to rest for a while, Raelle and I can take up lookout.”

“I’m good.”

Raelle looks up from her plate with a frown to see Scylla staring straight at her. The sudden shock of emotion that shoots through her system is enough to get Raelle to put her food down and clear her own throat.

“Uh, don’t you think—” Raelle starts, trying to temper the quick rise of irritation in her blood. “That—".

“I think Abigail and Tally spent all afternoon doing things and should rest up,” Scylla says placidly. “You took a nap. And _I_ can go all night.” Scylla pauses at that, the smarmy smirk painted on her face is enough to make Raelle want to scream.

Or maybe smile back.

She hasn’t decided yet.

“So, I’m good here,” Scylla finishes.

Abigail looks on the edge of exploding, and Tally’s already moving from her seat in preparation to do damage control, but Raelle stands up first to step in front of Abigail, hands out like she’s seen Tally do a dozen times before.

“I’ve got this, Abigail. You and Tally _should_ rest.”

Raelle’s not quite sure why she’s agreeing to spend the next several hours sitting in silence with an ex that she’s still very much in love with. An ex who she basically told to _go die_ not even a full month ago. Yet here she is, watching Abigail’s face run through the full spectrum of human emotions before her mouth settles into a small frown.

“Fine.”

And off she goes, doing her classic Bellweather stomp all the way. Tally hurriedly cleans up her spot at the table and trails after her.

With a slam of the bedroom door, and the sounds of muffled conversation, Raelle sighs again and slumps into a nearby armchair, groaning at the way her bones ache and muscles stretch. She picks half-heartedly at what’s left of her dinner, her appetite gone.

Minutes go by like hours; she can feel Scylla sneaking glances at her every other breath. It’s like a fresh bruise being prodded. The more Scylla looks at her, the tighter Raelle clenches her jaw, just _bursting_ with need to let all the built-up grief and anger in her reign free.

Instead, she stands, dumping her half-eaten pizza in the trash and plopping herself down at the kitchen table. She scratches at the wood grain, digging her fingernails in for a moment before choosing to focus her attention on a scrap of paper that Tally left on the table.

“You’re just going to ignore me and pretend like nothing’s happening here?”

The sound of Scylla’s voice makes Raelle’s head snap up from the paper football that she was folding. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

All that she registers is the shaking rage that’s building up in her chest—the ugly feeling that she tries to shove down—her head playing through all the memories, the touches, the lies that were crafted to lure her in. She stuffs it all back into the overflowing box of her heart and returns to focusing on the tiny origami in front of her.

Evidently, her silence isn’t an acceptable reply for Scylla, who tries again. “Can you at least tell me what I can do to get you to look at me like you don’t want to cry or die—or kill me?”

Raelle prickles, but she refuses to look up from her prized paper football. “You _lied_ to me. And then showed up on base like you _hadn’t_ escaped, just to bring news from my _dead mother_ who’s in charge of a terrorist cell. I don’t think there’s anything you _can_ say.” 

The silence is smothering. Raelle’s this close to going for a walk, stake-out be damned. Unfortunately, when Scylla locks onto a goal, she’s a little relentless.

“Are you okay?” Her tone is gentler now. Concerned. “You keep shifting, and I can tell you’re hurt.”

That snaps something in Raelle and before she knows it, she’s pushing away from the table and on her feet with an angry huff. Her muscles scream. The still-healing wound on her chest gives a solid throb of pain. “You don’t _get_ to worry about me anymore!”

Scylla looks shocked, caught in a rare moment of a loss for words.

“You lied!” Now that she’s started, Raelle can’t stop. “You left! I thought you were dead! I loved you with my whole heart and you were nothing that I thought you were.” Her voice cracks, tears building. She feels stifled by a cloud of sadness and anger that she doesn’t want to feel.

But something must have snapped in Scylla then, too, because suddenly she stands and strides towards Raelle, the only obstacles between them are the dining room table and the mountain of emotions that they both clearly still hold for each other.

“Not everything I told you was a lie. I joined the Spree to avenge my parents. I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you. I’m _still_ in love with you.” Scylla’s voice is strong but her eyes are soft, and she’s worrying her bottom lip in that way that she does when she’s being emotionally vulnerable. “I’d take back _everything_ I did if it meant you were still mine.”

Distrust and sympathy swirl like oil and water in Raelle’s chest. She can only shake her head and force her legs to move her back towards the windows, away from Scylla.

She gets about two steps past Scylla before Scylla grabs her wrist. Raelle freezes. Scylla’s touch ignites something in Raelle that causes her to spin around and turn to look Scylla directly in the eyes for the first time.

Everything in Raell is telling her to pull free, to just go sit in silence until their shift is over. But, there’s something in her that yearns and aches when she sees the deep blue of Scylla’s eyes.

“You’re hurt.” Scylla says, just quietly enough that Raelle instinctively leans in to hear her better.

“ _Your_ fault,” Raelle snaps back, trying to swallow down the lump in her throat—but it doesn’t go away.

Scylla looks down to where they’re connected, hand gripped firmly around Raelle’s wrist, locked tight enough that Raelle can’t pull free without a little bit of real effort.

“Let me help? If we have to fight you won’t be of any use like this.”

Raelle knows she should go.

She _knows_ she should just leave Scylla alone here with the remains of whatever the fuck they were at her feet. But then she remembers the feeling of what it was like to lose Scylla the first time. The pain and misery of having lost the one person that was anchoring her to the world, the abject heartbreak.

And yet here Scylla is, collarless and existing before her like every bit of daydream that Raelle knows her to be; so firm and resolute, despite all the nervous tells Raelle knows so well. Scylla’s looking up at her, face open and jaw loose, waiting for something that Raelle’s not sure she can give without breaking herself open all over again.

And yet.

The affection and conflict in her heart tugs hard and tumbles straight down, low in her belly, simmering into a needy throb.

_I need to leave. Just one firm yank and three steps to the door. I can leave._

But before the rational part of her brain can dig its heels in, Raelle surges forward, hooking the hand that isn’t being held in place around the back of Scylla’s head and bringing their mouths together.

It’s like breathing for the first time since she walked away in the dungeon. It’s the first gulp of water after wandering the desert for three days. Scylla’s lips are full and soft and quivering, almost imperceptibly, beneath hers as they push and pull against each other. She’s so solid against Raelle, caught between the table and her body while they kiss messily, frantically. Raelle’s body flares up in heat and fire, scorching between her legs and burning the rest of her resolve with it. Kissing Scylla feels like coming home.

If her home had been ransacked and torn apart by someone she thought she knew.

The thought goes as quickly as it came, in a swirl of rage and lust, as Raelle yanks her hand from Scylla’s grip. She pins Scylla’s hands flat against the table and presses harder into the kiss.

Scylla kisses like she’s begging for forgiveness, looking for salvation. She kisses like Raelle might disappear at any second, and the thought only stokes the fire in Raelle. She has to break the kiss and move to Scylla’s neck, dragging her teeth against the sensitive spot that makes Scylla’s breath hitch and body arch. 

Raelle’s breath comes in hot, damp pants against Scylla’s neck. She drags a hand away from Scylla to press against the table in order to ground herself.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she tells Scylla, though truthfully it feels like she’s trying to convince herself as well. “We’re only doing this to power up so we don’t get killed by those assholes across the street.”

Scylla stills for a moment, paused, then nods slowly. Raelle’s glad that she can’t see Scylla’s eyes or what might be lurking in them.

She returns to pressing hot kisses along Scylla’s neck, feeling Scylla shift beneath her, hands grabbing fruitlessly at the table in some attempt to steady herself. Raelle bites and sucks at Scylla’s throat, feeling it bob beneath her mouth as Scylla tries desperately to stifle her little sounds of pleasure. Only kisses, though. No teeth. None of the little nips she had used to tease Scylla with in the past. Raelle is careful not to mark what’s not hers—what she’s not sure she should claim.

She lets Scylla’s hands go in favor of moving to tug at Scylla’s clothes, pulling the stupidly flattering denim button-up shirt off of her as quickly as possible. It’s followed soon after by Scylla’s white shirt, leaving Scylla clad in only a simple black bra, her chest heaving, her eyes boring into Raelle’s.

Raelle wants to fall to her knees and worship every inch of skin she sees.

She crushes that feeling down and tumbles forward again, pressing open-mouth kisses along Scylla’s clavicle, hands working to unclasp Scylla’s bra and throw it somewhere to her left along with the rest of her clothes.

“Raelle—”

Scylla’s moan urges a growl from Raelle’s throat. She loves the way her name leaves Scylla’s mouth, all soft and tender and full of sweetness that Raelle tries to ignore. She brings her mouth to one of Scylla’s breasts and sucks an angry red spot underneath the beauty mark that, before _everything_ , she’d spent hours kissing.

“Raelle, _please_ —”

Raelle huffs, bringing her head level with Scylla’s, meeting Scylla’s intense gaze. Rage swirls inside Raelle. She can’t even grasp a single word out of the entire tornado of things spinning in her head right now. Instead, she just brings a hand up and smears her thumb across Scylla’s lips, presses it inside Scylla’s mouth and lets the other girl lick across it, wet it just enough for Raelle to rub her split-slicked thumb down to grab Scylla’s chin the way she has a hundred times before.

She can’t tear her eyes away from the way Scylla’s tongue barely peeks out from between her lips, breathing labored, eyes half-lidded, and looking for all the world like she might pass out at any moment.

Raelle has to crush the urge to tell Scylla she’s beautiful. She chooses to push two fingers into Scylla’s mouth, barely containing her own moan of approval when Scylla takes her fingers with no resistance, eyes fluttering closed as Raelle’s fingers grow slick with saliva.

The sight is a bit much for Raelle to handle, even despite all her simmering rage, so she ducks her head to nibble at the space of skin below Scylla’s ear.

 _That_ pulls a high and needy moan from Scylla; Scylla’s thighs part instinctually and Raelle almost smiles.

Almost.

She pulls her fingers from Scylla’s mouth and guides them south, past the waistband of her jeans, barely pausing to work the button of Scylla’s jeans undone. It’s just enough room to press directly into the wet heat between the apex of Scylla’s thighs.

Raelle lets out a small, dark laugh, when she feels Scylla’s arousal, molten hot and slick. She barely moves her hand, only applying the most teasing of flicks and presses against Scylla’s clit as she cocks her head to watch the reaction she draws out.

No matter how much she presses her festering bundle of emotions down into the box in her heart, this sickly affection seems to seep out through the cracks, threatening to engulf Raelle’s sensibilities whole.

What very much does _not_ help is the way Scylla’s head tilts back and she just _hums,_ gazing up through her long lashes to look at Raelle with something caught between sorrow and _lov—_

Raelle smashes the lid of the box closed and pulls away from Scylla for the briefest of moments to flip Scylla around until she’s bent over the table. Without hesitation, Raelle hooks her fingers on the bands of Scylla’s jeans and underwear, ripping them halfway down Scylla’s legs. She pushes back into Scylla, two fingers curling deep into Scylla’s clenching cunt as Raelle’s other hand works to teasingly flick just _so_ across Scylla’s clit.

“ _Fuck,_ Raelle,” Scylla gasps, hands scrambling to grip at the edge of the table while Raelle lean over her, forehead pressed into the arch of her back. “M-more.”

A groan escapes Raelle, as she feels the link between them tighten—Scylla’s pleasure coursing through the weave of reality to coil up her own spine. She bites down hard on Scylla’s shoulder as she fucks a third finger into her, driving her hand roughly against the clenching muscles.

The bite causes Scylla to keen, a high pitched cry that pierces the apartment and forces Raelle to abandon her work at Scylla’s clit to shove a hand over Scylla’s mouth, Scylla arching into the table even more.

“Shut up. People are sleeping.”

Scylla’s eyes roll back at the angle that having her head grabbed provides and lets out a quieter, softer moan into Raelle’s palm.

“Hurt me,” she tells Raelle in a small voice.

Raelle halts for a moment, fingers stilling. Her heart quickens, threatening to break loose from her chest as she watches Scylla’s form quiver below her. Raelle swallows, suddenly parched. She moves her hand from Scylla’s mouth, dragging it down along Scylla’s body, pausing only to brush her thumb across the witch mark on Scylla’s lower back—shiny and purple, glinting up at her.

“You sure?” Raelle asks. Even with all the trauma between them, she’d never be able to physically hurt Scylla without consent first.

Scylla turns her head, runs her tongue along her lips. Her smile is wry. “Hurt me. If it makes you feel better, I can take it. Do what you want. I’m always going to choose you. I love—"

Raelle’s heart rages, caught between hate, arousal, and just enough trust that it makes everything feel that much harder. She brings her palm down hard across Scylla’s ass before Scylla can finish her sentence.

The loud smack reverberates around the room, and the sting warms Raelle’s palm as Scylla gasps, pressing back into the contact and letting out a small whimper of pleasure. It’d make Raelle blush if she weren’t so fascinated by the way Scylla clenches around her fingers, walls fluttering with the aftereffects of the spank.

It’s what makes Raelle repeat the action, a firm smack as she pushes into Scylla with her other hand, earning a loud gasp of approval from Scylla.

“More, please.”

Raelle carries on, giving Scylla three more spanks before settling into a rough and hard rhythm, drilling her fingers into Scylla, curling and rubbing perfectly at the spot that makes Scylla cry out the loudest as she peppers bites all over Scylla’s back, not even bothering to sooth them over with her tongue.

_“A-Ah!”_

She pulls away from leaving angry marks on Scylla’s back to trail kisses up to Scylla’s ear, sucking firmly beneath it as she lifts her free hand to tangle itself in Scylla’s hair.

“You’re taking me so well, Scyl. You sure you haven’t been busy without me? Filling that space I left in your heart with someone else in your bed?” Even imaging the scenario makes Raelle see red for a brief second.

Scylla’s breath comes in rapid, shallow pants and moans, eyes shut tight. “Fuck, Raelle. I— _shit_ . I don’t. _Oh!_ Don’t want anyone else. _Nngh_ —only you. Only ever you.”

The link stretches, weaves its way between their souls and Raelle can _feel_ how close Scylla is. Not only from the sporadic clamping of her cunt, no, she can feel Scylla’s emotions, the way they ache and pulse with a desire to be close to Raelle. Scylla’s regrets, her grief, her love, all spilling through into Raelle’s mind via their link and smothering her in this overwhelming feeling of calm.

What irritates Raelle the most is that it’s _all truth_ , and nothing else, uninhibited and unhidden by the connection that their work is offering them.

Raelle wishes she could ignore the way it soothes her, the way she can feel her muscles losing their fatigue despite the way they’re currently flexing to bring Scylla to her bliss. She tries to bury the rapturous feeling by biting down hard on Scylla’s neck and thrusting her fingers in as deep as she can, curling, seeking.

The effect on Scylla is immediate and evident in the way she keens, back arching. Her hands seek purchase on the smooth wooden surface, knocking everything over and pushing Raelle’s jacket off the edge, revealing the protection charm.

 _Fuck_.

It’s already too late to hide it, Raelle knows the moment Scylla sees it because she _squeezes_ tight around her fingers and lets out the smallest of whimpers, tumbling over the edge so fast and so hard that her entire body seizes up, her grip on the table knuckle-white.

In their tension, Scylla’s hand catches a small cup on the table, left over from dinner; she sends it to the ground with a loud crash as the glass shatters, pieces scattering. Raelle can’t even bring herself to care.

She’s too busy trying to resist the impulse to kiss up and down Scylla’s spine, the way she has a thousand times before. She’s nearly about to give into temptation when the door to the bedroom bangs open and Abigail and Tally come spilling out, scourges at the ready.

The first thing Raelle does is grab her jacket from the ground to throw over Scylla, before not-so-casually resting a hand on the table while giving a small wave with her other one.

The fury on Abigail’s face would be hilarious in any other situation. “Unbelievable. Really, Collar. On a stakeout? Are you serious?”

Tally, however, is clearly trying to contain her amusement, pursing her lips into a thin line and looking anywhere but at Scylla, who’s pulling the jacket around herself, shimmying her pants back up her legs.

“She was, uh. I …” Raelle tries, before giving up completely and shrugging at Abigail. No sense in pretending. Not when Abigail and Tally already saw everything anyway. “She offered to charge me up.”

Scylla, luckily, doesn’t follow that up with some sassy remark. A quick glance in her direction tells Raelle that she’s a little preoccupied with trying to hide a smile while fixing her clothes and admiring the protection charm that’s still on the table.

That stupid, mocking charm.

Abigail looks like she’s about to start in on a classic hour-long Bellweather rant. Raelle’s not exactly in the mood to sit and listen, so she brushes Abigail off with another shrug, shuffling past her and Tally.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Wh—” 

Raelle would laugh at Abigail’s flustered anger, if this wasn’t the completely wrong time for that.

She ducks into the bathroom and closes the door before Tally can even speak.

The bathroom’s not big, but the wall that the sink and counter is attached to is almost completely taken up by a large mirror. There’s no way for Raelle to avoid looking at herself. Despite the way the reflection shares her tired eyes and sore frame, she doesn’t really recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror.

She’s a little rumpled, pupils wide with arousal, her hair messy and sticking to her sweaty forehead. Beyond that, she can’t read her own emotions; there’s a strange type of joy there, a weird sense of euphoria mixing with guilt and a sense of betrayal.

Which is stupid, she reasons with herself, as she turns on the shower and waits for the water to heat up. She’s a grown woman, she can make her own choices—and if her choices happen to be hooking up with her ex (who she may or may not still be in love with), then there should be no one to question her. _Especially_ herself.

 _But it’s messy_ , a small, quiet part of Raelle says. _And Scylla doesn’t deserve that. She’s been through a lot. You can’t play with her like that._

The thoughts invade her head like unwelcome house guests as she glances around for body wash or shampoo, only to realize that the bathroom is empty of all toiletries bar a single pump-bottle of hand soap on the sink.

“Fucking damnit,” Raelle mumbles, turning to the door and beginning her mental walkthrough of how to get past Abigail’s ranting in order to retrieve her toiletries bag.

Before she even touches the handle, the door opens and Scylla slides inside the bathroom holding that very bag.

“Uh.” Raelle says, at loss for words. She’s still trying to process what just happened in the kitchen. “Hi?”

“I knocked this off the table,” Scylla says with a small, apologetic smile. She holds the bag out to Raelle. “Figured you’d need it if you were actually going to shower.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Raelle makes no move to grab for the bag. She can’t help but notice how flushed Scylla still is, how dilated her pupils are. Scylla’s eyes are still Raelle’s favorite shade of blue.

She becomes absurdly aware of how sticky and warm it is between her thighs when Scylla’s eyes drop down on her face and she licks her own lips instinctively.

It happens quick; Scylla drops the bag and is on Raelle before either of them can blink, pushing Raelle backwards into the bathroom wall; losing every bit of guile she might have had in favor of a clumsy and messy kiss that reignites the burning in Raelle’s gut—not that Raelle’s sure it ever went out.

It’s the kind of kiss one could get drunk off of, their tongues meeting and sliding against each other. It draws a thick moan from Raelle, whose hands have moved seemingly of their own accord to grab Scylla’s hoodie.

“Off.” Scylla’s voice is husky and low, hands tugging on Raelle’s simple black shirt and jeans.

Raelle’s not necessarily in the position to object. Nor does she really want to. She pulls her shirt off in one smooth motion before moving to her belt, fingers shaking with anticipation, slipping on the leather and metal.

“Let me help,” Scylla reaches down to tangle their fingers together; she pins Raelle’s hands to the wall while pushing against her body.

Every bit of contact with Scylla feels like taking a fistful of Salva, even through two layers of clothing.

Scylla’s hands abandon Raelle’s to work on opening her pants. She rips the belt open, practically tears the button off, before unceremoniously shoving her hand into Raelle’s underpants.

“My, my. For all your storm and fury, it sure is _wet_ down here.” 

Raelle can feel Scylla’s smug grin when they kiss.

“Sh-shut up, Scylla.”

To her credit, Scylla _does_ shut up, pushing her face into Raelle’s neck and pressing hot, firm kisses there, just barely scraping her teeth against Raelle’s pulse point, while her fingers slide messily against Raelle’s clit.

Raelle can _feel_ her own desire, can feel just how sticky it is between her thighs, how her cunt throbs against Scylla’s fingers. An uncharacteristic whine falls from Raelle’s lips before she can stop it.

“Inside.” 

She half demands, half begs for it, as she unzips Scylla’s hoodie, splaying it open so that it’s sliding off of Scylla’s bare shoulders and down her arms. Raelle tries to pull it completely off Scylla but realizes that it’s just a bit impossible considering Scylla’s hands are a bit busy. One’s keeping them propped up. The other’s beginning to tease at Raelle’s entrance, barely slipping in before pulling back away.

“Scylla, I swear to g- _oh!_ ” Raelle’s eyes squeeze closed as Scylla finally pushes two fingers into her with ease.

Raelle’s hands grip the loose fabric of Scylla’s hoodie. She has to distract herself from slipping early, trying to savor the feeling of Scylla’s fingers pumping into her cunt while her thumb works to slide and press against her clit so deliciously that Raelle can’t help but fall forward to rest her forehead on Scylla’s shoulder, panting hot and heavy against Scylla’s chest.

For a moment, Raelle thinks she might die here. Her brain is fizzling out into space and she’s _this_ close to losing it, but she digs her fingers tighter around Scylla and holds steady, trying to cling onto this bliss for the rest of forever—to stay in this pocket of time where nobody else can touch her or Scylla ever again.

“I’m sorry,” comes a whisper against Raelle’s ear, accompanied by a peppering of kisses against her cheek, fingers still pumping away. “I love you.”

Raelle can’t stop the way her insides flutter, nor the broken moan that tumbles from her lips. She’s tried to run so far away every time Scylla’s close to saying it, and now that she’s standing at the edge of the abyss, it’s the only thing that pushes her ever closer.

“I love you.” Scylla whispers again, hooking her fingers on one final drag out and Raelle is so close that she can taste god, she thinks, but Scylla’s pulling away, and Raelle almost cries out of desperation.

“No, nonono, come back—”

Her hands pull urgently at Scylla, but the other girl is already dropping to her knees and yanking Raelle’s pants and underwear down to her ankles in one fell swoop. Raelle feels herself shift to part her legs without a second thought.

Scylla’s tongue is on her in seconds, hot and adding to the copious amount of wetness between her legs. Her hands grip Raelle’s thighs to keep them spread.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Raelle whimpers, hips jutting against Scylla’s mouth, hands scrambling to grip Scylla’s head as she jerks needily against the tongue that’s pressed flat against her clit.

When she chances a glance down, all she sees are dark eyes staring up at her. All she can feel is Scylla’s fingers gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise—and then Scylla _sucks_ neatly on her clit, the tip of her tongue flicking deliciously, and Raelle _sees stars_.

She doesn’t know if it’s the sheer force with which she’s coming, or if she might have just given herself a concussion by slamming her head back into the wall with a loud moan, but the link between her and Scylla is on _fire_. Winding and twisting its way around every single nerve in her body, choking her with how strong their connection is.

Scylla’s groaning into her cunt as her eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of Raelle coming in her mouth. And when Raelle blinks sleepily in front of her, she catches the reflection of herself in the wall-sized mirror, flushed and panting, hands running softly through Scylla’s hair.

She doesn’t think she can see herself like this with anyone else. 

A few more licks and Scylla is pressing a kiss to Raelle’s witch mark, slowly making her way up with the gentlest pecks and bites up her torso until she’s standing in front of Raelle once again, smile soft and eyes even softer.

Raelle’s at a loss for words; all she can do to convey what she’s feeling is look down at where their hands are linked, fingers intertwined as Scylla rubs her thumb gently against hers.

“You don’t have to forgive me right away,” Scylla says, eyebrows knitted in concentration as she tries to come up with the right words. “But I’m going to prove to you that I love you and that I want to be with you. That I’m loyal and honest.”

Raelle still doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she simply nods, the sharp pangs of betrayal in her chest abating for the first time. She offers a Scylla a small smile; a peace offering; the one she gets in return could probably end world hunger.

“So, about that shower?”

Scylla’s eyebrows quirk in that charming way of hers, and all Raelle can do is nod, as Scylla steps away, disrobing, and pulling Raelle into the shower with her.

Vaguely, beyond the sound of the shower and Scylla’s soft laugh, Raelle swears she can hear Abigail cursing up a storm.


End file.
